“Even though she knew he wasn’t Tormod. I do not think he will ever get over that, the way I will never forgive Marcant and Ula for the way they betrayed my father. The way you probably will never forgive those responsible for your husband’s death.”
Gemma was quiet for a moment, then reached out and brushed her fingers gently down the side of the little girl’s face. “I lost a daughter, too.”
Aoife looked up sharply. “I am sorry, I didn’t know.”
“The people were starving during the siege. And thirsty. If my father had surrendered earlier…”
“The Norsemen might have slaughtered everyone on the rock.”
“They might have, but dying of disease and taking others with you, is that a better way to die?”
She caught herself. Even when she had told Arne the story, she hadn’t realised how bitter she was about her father’s choices. “If Artgal had made a different choice, my husband would not have returned sick with fever and my daughter might have lived.”
“Perhaps,” Aoife said. “But…”
“What?”
“My visions are rarely wrong. They rarely show choices for the future. As if… as if there is a way things are meant to be.”
“But things change all the time, Aoife. Growing up at Alt Clut, my father was constantly making alliances. Then something would happen with that nobleman and the terms would change. Enemies became allies, allies enemies. People died at each turn. It is almost like people’s lives are a game, playing pieces on a board for them to dispose of for their own gain even if it ultimately leads to their own losses.” She paused. “You said you were not seeing visions anymore.”
“They’ve returned.”
Aoife’s expression was troubled and Gemma hesitated before asking her, “What have you seen?”
Aoife looked away and swallowed before slowly turning back to face her. She smiled, but it seemed forced. “Kirkjaster, bigger than it is now. And full of both Britons and Norse. Gemma, think carefully about staying here. My life here is no worse than my life before. And I know my father was not a king but… But look what happened to him. And the man responsible for his death still walks free. Even if he has been outlawed.”
Gemma swallowed the lump in her throat. “It is not because things will be better for me I’m going back, but for Caelin. Goodbye, Aoife.” The words came out as little more than a whisper. She stood and made her way to the door. Aoife simply nodded at her when she turned to look back, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Gemma, I saw something else,” Aoife said. Gemma waited for her to go on, unsure whether she wanted to hear this or not. “King Rhun was dead.”
Gemma took in a sharp breath, swallowing down her fears of how Aoife might answer her. “And who was the new king?”
“Eochaid.”
She let out the breath. That, at least, was a relief. Perhaps Caelin would be safe from anyone who sought to make him king after all. If only she could convince Rhun of this. “Do you think this will happen soon?”
“No. Eochaid was older, older than he is now anyway.”
Gemma smiled brightly. “This is good news, then. This is the way things should be. Eochaid will inherit once my brother grows old and—"
“He wasn’t ruling alone. There is a second king.”
“What?” Gemma pressed her fingers over her mouth. She wanted to scream at Aoife to stop speaking, but what good would that do? Then she let her hands fall as she clenched her fists and swallowed. “Wh… Who?”
“I… I don’t know who it was. If it was Caelin or…”
“There cannot be two kings, Aoife. Please tell no one else about this. Caelin is no danger to my brother’s line.” And with that, she swept out of the room and into her own to pack the rest of hers and Caelin’s belongings.
It was all too much. She had to get away. From Arne. From Aoife and her prophecies. She needed to try to take control of her life and sort things out for herself as best she could. It was that or spend her life running. If she got it wrong, she would end up dead, but the thought that terrified her most was Caelin dying because of her mistake.
Chapter Twenty
Arne sat in thegreat hall eating a meal prepared by his mother using the venison he had brought with them from the shieling. The flavours made him appreciate the advantages of being at home, although Gemma had done her best. And even Ragna would have had limitations in the circumstances they had been in. That was not the life Gemma had been born into, but it was the only one he was able to offer her, albeit he was rich enough to afford thralls to help her as his mother did, too.
He wondered about Tormod’s decision to simply admit Gemma had been in Kirkjaster over the winter. A visit with Aoife was certainly a valid reason for her to be there, and the soldiers had seemed to accept it without question, but it worried him why Rhun was sending soldiers to look for them now. What had changed? Nothing the soldiers had said explained this.
Arne knew his time with Gemma had run out as soon as Ulf had found them at the shieling, and that she should return to her home—but everything in him was urging him not to let her go. But what future could they have together? He couldn’t offer her the life she deserved. If she stayed with him, either he or Gemma would always be an outsider, no matter where they lived. He sighed. After initial reservations, most of the population of Kirkjaster now seemed to accept Aoife—even his brother Ulf. And no one saw Rhiannon as any kind of threat. But neither of them posed the riskGemma did. She was a princess. An important political target—or weapon.
